


Claim

by Kemmasandi



Series: Coming Clean [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Exhibitionism, Other, Size Difference, Sticky Sex, tumblr-enabled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orion helps Megatronus wind down after a bout in the arenas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claim

**Author's Note:**

> More tumblr-enabled porn. This one sort of grew out of a potential scene for another, much longer fic I have planned, but I don't think I'll use it as it is so here, it's posted.

Orion Pax landed on his back, his legs flung wide as his autonomics tried to retrain his equilibrium on the arena floor. Sound roared in his audials, within and without: his spark, pulsing loud in shock, silver metal suddenly filling his vision, reverberating with the deep growl of systems pushed to the max, the savage roar of the spectators up in the stands. Megatronus settled between his thighs, hot exvents washed over his plating, hands and bulky armour pressing him down, pinning him to the ground.

Megatronus’ fights seldom drained the master gladiator of all his energy. Orion had seen it in him many times before, the plasma crawling charge over his plates, vented air turning white with condensation around him, field intense with the need to fight, to win, to _dominate._ It made him frightening—and perhaps they were right when they said Orion was glitched, because Megatronus was never more attractive to him than then.

He gasped in mixed slow shock and arousal as Megatronus’ clawed hand skittered over his abdominal plating, drawing frictive sparks in its wake. The gladiator’s huge silver frame covered him completely, thick hips forcing his thighs so wide he felt sure it would have hurt if he hadn’t—suddenly—been running so hot, tensions cords and hydraulics loose, automatically opening himself up fully to his chosen. Orion had helped Megatronus like this before, offering his valve and frame to burn off the frustrated energy—but not like this, not in front of the entire Kaon arena!

–The thought, though, was intoxicating, and he found himself reacting as if they were alone, little moans bubbling up unheeded through his vocaliser as deft claws tripped the manual catch on his interface panels, sliding them open and baring his array to the cold polar air.

“Tell me to stop.” Megatronus’ voice rumbled into his audial fin as two of his fingers slipped roughly into Orion’s valve. His chassis was radiating desperate heat, but his extremities were cold, which somehow made the electricity arcing from them even more potent than usual, lighting the tiny circuits that weaved through every section of Orion’s valve in white-hot sensation. The archivist cried out, twisting and bucking, priority trees dropping everything but the burning need to get _more_ of Megatronus inside him.

“Make me,” he managed; refused, denied, knowing through experience that the taste of the challenge was what Megatronus needed, more than the willing partner, more than the wet welcoming valve. Challenge to defeat, to overcome. It was a warbuild thing, perhaps. It made it all the sweeter for them both when Orion let himself give in, enriched and gratified in defeat.

“Very well,” Megatronus growled, the rev of his high-powered engine transmitting subsonic bass vibrations through his thick thoracic armor and straight into Orion’s spark. He scissored his fingers inside Orion, forcing the valve calipers open, clawtips digging painfully into sensor nodes that sparked and sent lightning-bolt pleasure/pain straight to his lower processors. His spike pressurised, the weight of it hot against Orion’s inner thigh.

Orion was dimly aware that the activity in the arena had paused, match officiants, spectators and gladiators alike gathering to watch the show. Megatronus had grabbed him just outside the main arena door, and he’d fallen just on the edge of the fighting surface, well within view of most of the stadium. None of them really knew him save for Soundwave; to Kaon he’d been for a couple of vorns now known only as ‘that little dexter with the strong field, y’know, the one who follows Megatronus around all the time’.

 _They’ll know me as something different now,_ Orion thought, and let his field flare out as far as it would go, pulsing sensually with echoes of his own ecstasy.

“Heh,” Megatronus grunted, catching onto the idea. He rocked back, drawing his claws out of Orion’s valve and letting his own field explode with the force of his lust. Orion reeled, giving way and wrapping around him, arms, legs and field, feeling the tip of Megatronus’ massive spike press against the entrance of his valve.

It would be a tight fit, as always, and they hadn’t spent nearly as much preparation on him as they usually did. Orion couldn’t much bring himself to care.

Under the eyes of thousands, Megatron hitched Orion’s hips up and plunged into him in one deep, painful thrust.

The shock of the penetration made Orion arch and cry out, a ringing scream which trailed off into gasped moans as Megatronus moved within him. It hurt, it really did, but there was something in him which would not let his systems interpret it as pain alone. He shuddered at the feeling, his calipers forced open to their maximum aperture, stretched so flat they fluttered in vain as they tried to open further to make room for Megatronus’ spike. The gladiator gave him a moment, clawed servos running soothingly along the backs of his thighs, coaxing his frame to relax. Orion let his vocaliser spill a soft keen as he hooked his pedes over the back of Megatronus’ legs, his valve rim grinding up against Megatronus’ array housing and sending shocks of pleasure throughout his circuits.

“Ready?” Megatronus asked, his voice rank with the effort of restraining himself, pitched so low even Orion’s audials, tuned to a wide range, had trouble picking up the meaning in the tone.

He tried to nod—his vocaliser seemed incapable of forming proper glyphs or indeed anything short of a needy cry. _/Yes!/_ he sent through shortrange comms, not bothering to tune it to Megatronus’ specific frequency, and his valve rippled around the gladiator’s spike, pressure making them both groan.

“Good,” Megatronus groaned, his field like molten metal around them.

He withdrew slowly, the tiny reverse-set barbs that covered the shaft of his spike flicking open, scratching trails of electricity down the sensor channels inside Orion’s valve. It was a relatively new mod, one which Orion hadn’t had inside him nearly enough to get used to it. He spasmed and shrieked, the sound tailing off into a sobbed exhortation to _do that again, please, harder!_

_/As you wish,/_ Megatronus replied via comms, his vocaliser halfway through a scratchy groan. He hunched down further over Orion, flight engines screaming, and snapped his hips back in. Orion’s backstruts curved upwards in such a harsh arc that his shoulders left the ground, his chestplates grinding against the gladiator’s thick armour. _/So tight, you’re so slagging tight!/_ the gladiator groaned, pulling back. Orion barely heard it over the stream of babbled pleas for more running through his own vocaliser. _/Frame is much stronger than it looks. Primus below! So tight, so beautiful like this!/_

Harsh strokes of that thick, torturous spike drove Orion to the brink and back. The force of every thrust scraped him back across the steel arena floor, stinging in his sensornet that only enhanced the glide and dragging withdrawal in and out of his valve. Orion let himself go, offlining his optics and HUD, ignoring the exceeded-capacity warnings his valve array kept sending him and concentrating on the extreme of sensation. He left his vocaliser on for Megatronus, knowing the gladiator found his own pleasure in the constant stream of Orion’s own.

Megatronus changed his angle abruptly, pressing Orion’s legs still wider and hitching them up around his waist. The head of his spike slid straight into the terminal node cluster deep inside Orion where before it had been gliding faintly over it, shocking a rising scream out of him. The satisfaction in the gladiator’s field was palpable, pressing down around Orion, intimately winding into the archivist’s.

Orion didn’t know how he lasted past two of those thrusts when each and every one cycled enough energy through his valve and spark that it felt like Megatronus was forging a new star from his frame. He writhed, he arched, he ground against the gladiator, trying blindly to drag that last joule of pleasure from their joined bodies which would allow him to finally overload. He tasted lightning on his glossa, swept it over Megatron’s chest plate as high on the gladiator’s chest as he could reach. They couldn’t kiss in this position—Megatronus was simply too big. Orion was too small.

Two, five, ten. Megatronus at last overloaded on the eleventh, letting go of a reverberating animalistic roar as he went abruptly still and emptied himself into Orion’s valve. Orion felt the first hot rush of transfluid inside him, throwing him headlong into his own climax. Distantly he heard himself scream, his frame locking up, the abused calipers in his valve clamping down to the edge of pain on Megatronus’ spike.

He came to himself with Megatronus’ servos pressed to the ground on either side of his helm, his own servos wrapped tight around the gladiator’s wrists, shivering with small aftershocks. Megatronus was still inside him.

The gladiator pushed himself further up, giving himself an unobstructed view of Orion’s exhausted frame. His own field was sated, content for now. Energon dripped down his chest from a forgotten wound on the upper side of his shoulder, bright blue and sparking with absorbed energy.

Orion licked his lips, heaved a gust of cold Kaon air in through his circulator fans. Megatronus followed the movement, his optics—gladiator-red for the moment—resting pointedly on Orion’s hands, clamped as a lifeline around his wrists.

“You do realise that was a claim,” he rumbled, shifting his hips against Orion’s. The movement wrung a shock of pleasure from their spent arrays, tactile data which reached right to the end of Orion’s valve and made it ripple around the still-heated spike. “You’re mine, and now the whole of Kaon will acknowledge it.”

“One mech cannot own another,” Orion pointed out, smiling reassuringly when he saw the flash go through Megatronus’ narrowed optics. “But yes, I am yours. Of course,” he added, “the reverse is also true.”

Megatronus blinked—laughed. “I have said it many times before, Orion, but I do like the way you think.” He smoothly pulled out of Orion, a gush of transfluid and backed-up lubricant pouring after him. Orion shuttered his optics and gave himself a moment to concentrate on the unwelcome feeling of emptiness, the way it exacerbated the sharp ache inside him. Megatronus offered him a hand, and he took it, swung to his pedes with ease.

He took a quick testing step, and winced. Yes, this would definitely warrant a trip to Ratchet’s practice tomorrow.

Around them, the gathered arena officials had fallen into disarray. One sat with his back to the stands, quickly palming his extended spike with one hand while the other pumped three fingers knuckles-deep in and out of his valve. Further into the arena’s underbelly, Megatron’s battered and energon-streaked opponent was being taken hard and fast up against the corridor wall. By an older cadremate, Orion guessed, considering the way his helm was thrown back, the way his mouth gaped wide in ecstasy.

Orion stood, weak on his pedes with Megatronus’ transfluid running down his thighs, and each and every one of them was looking at him with something akin to awed respect in their optics.


End file.
